


your steady touch

by propinquitous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, let shiro cry you cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/pseuds/propinquitous
Summary: “Did Adam,” he starts, stutters a little as Shiro finally looks up. He tries again. "Is he okay?”





	your steady touch

**Author's Note:**

> i had a very particular need after finishing s7.
> 
> (this takes place their first night back on earth, ish.)

“Are you okay?”

Keith finds himself checking on Shiro constantly these days. Before, he knew that Shiro would tell him if something was wrong, if he needed anything. He rarely did, but Keith never wanted to push. Things have shifted since Shiro came back the last time. Keith will touch his shoulder, lightly scratch the back of his head. Shiro will look up at him and smile, put his hand over Keith’s. Something new and tender sits between them. Keith often wonders how new it really is.

So now he asks as he gently pushes Shiro's uniform off his shoulder. He takes the tunic, folds it like he learned a decade ago, and turns back to rest a hand on Shiro's neck. He's looking down, breathing a little heavy in his undershirt. He sighs.

“I don't know. I don't know what I expected when we got back.But this,” he inhales again, still not looking at Keith. “This wasn't it.”

Keith takes a step closer, moves his hand to rest at Shiro's nape. He doesn't know if he should ask. He's afraid of the answer, of what it might mean for this precious thing, whatever it is, between them. He does it anyway.

“Did Adam,” he starts, stutters a little as Shiro finally looks up. He tries again. “Is he okay?”

Shiro doesn't answer right away. He pulls Keith in and wraps his arm around his waist, buries his face in his neck. Keith instinctively cradles his head and moves his other arm to clutch at Shiro's back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Shiro still doesn't say anything. Keith's neck is wet and hot with Shiro's breath and tears. He feels Shiro's chest heave against him and he holds on tighter. After a moment, as gently as he can, he pulls back enough to make Shiro look at him. He's beautiful like this. Keith almost feels guilty for thinking it. This close, he can see how his scar is slightly raised, how its edges flare outward. He can see how his eyelashes graze his cheeks when he blinks, how grey his eyes are at the center. He smiles a little when he realizes Shiro is starting to get the faintest hint of wrinkles around his eyes.

“Lie down with me?” Keith rubs a small circle with his thumb on Shiro's cheek as he asks, wipes a tear away as Shiro nods. He helps Shiro out of the rest of his uniform and finishes undressing himself down to his undershirt and briefs. He leaves all of their clothes folded in a neat pile on a built-in, and ignores the way his cadet orange next to Shiro's officer grey makes his chest tighten.

“Thank you,” Shiro's voice is hoarse when he finally speaks again. Keith leans up to kiss him briefly before leading him to bed.

They're under the thin blankets and Keith can't stop touching Shiro's face and neck. He runs his hands through his stark hair, feels the difference between the close cropped back and the soft hair at his crown. Shiro's watching him now, eyes still wet but level. Keith runs his thumb over Shiro's bottom lip, feels his breath ghost over his fingers as Shiro finally decides to speak.

“He died. I wasn't here. I don't know if I should've been.” He blinks, inhales. Keith steadies his hand on his cheek and reaches out to hold Shiro's hand. Shiro takes it and holds tight.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't put this on you. I know it must,” Shiro sniffles, “I don't know.”

“Shiro. It's okay. You loved him,” Keith says and Shiro blinks, like maybe he wasn't supposed to know that last part. Keith wonders if he shouldn't feel differently. If he should be angry or jealous, if it should bother him that Shiro feels anything. He pulls Shiro in closer, kisses him to prove something.

“It's okay,” he whispers, pulling away. Shiro squeezes his hand. He lets out a shuddering breath. “You were together a long time. You were always gonna feel something when we came back, no matter what it was like when we got here.” Keith imagines a hundred different scenarios where Shiro leaves him. He finds the panic he doesn't want to feel and shoves it down. This is not about me, he thinks.

Shiro almost laughs. It catches Keith off guard and he moves Shiro's face to look him in the eye. His eyes still glisten, there are still little trails down the sides of his nose, pooling on his upper lip.

“I just. I hoped that he would forgive me,” Shiro says, smiling ruefully, Keith can't tell if it's a question. He tries not to let the little bubble of panic in his stomach turn into jealousy. Shiro must see it, though. He has to know how Keith's brow knits when he's trying not to say something, which isn't often, and he must catch the reflexive tension in Keith's hand. He squeezes back and uses the moment to pull Keith in and kiss his forehead, the tip of his nose.

“Not like that, baby,” he says, a promise. It's enough to make Keith remember why he's here. He takes a deep breath. The vice around his insides loosens; the threat of jealousy fades. Shiro smiles a little and Keith's heart threatens to burst.

“What would you say to him?” Keith asks. “If you could?”

Shiro blinks back fresh tears. He looks between Keith's eyes and mouth to steady himself.

“I'd tell him I'm sorry. Not just for not being here to help, but for ever making him think I didn't love him enough.” Shiro has to stop and catch his breath as the tears start falling again. His pillow is soaked. Keith brings his hand to his lips and kisses Shiro's knuckles. A memory comes to him, unbidden, of the first time he and Shiro sparred. He had been impatient, nervous, and didn't wrap his hands well. He broke his right middle finger trying to hook Shiro's ribs. Shiro had felt so guilty that he snuck him food from the officer's lounge for weeks. He almost smiles but Shiro's wet cough reminds him that he's not a cadet anymore.

Shiro starts again, less reserved now, “I can't think of anything else to say but I'm sorry, for the way I acted, for leaving him here, for failing him. For not getting here in time. And I'm scared,” he sobs on the last word, tries to collect himself as he looks back up at Keith. “I don't want to think about it, but I'm so fucking scared, because if I couldn't protect him then how can I protect you? What if,” he stops, takes a huge shuddering breath that Keith almost mistakes for choking. “The thought of anything happening to you makes me sick. I couldn't do it. Not after everything.”

Keith bites his lip. He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he pulls Shiro toward him and uses his arm as leverage to roll him on to his back and on top of him. He brings both hands to bracket Shiro’s face, wiping tears away. Shiro is crying harder now, and Keith still doesn’t know what to say or do, because seeing Shiro like this hurts more than almost anything he’s ever experienced, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Shiro is the strongest person he knows. He feels stupid for panicking, for freezing, and suddenly he’s thinking of the first time he followed Shiro over the cliff on their bikes, of the rush and the warmth and surety he felt as he pulled back on the thrusters, knowing he’d be safe. So he kisses him.

Shiro’s hand immediately goes to his waist. His grip is tight and Keith realizes with startling clarity that even now, without the prosthetic, he can probably still throw Keith around. The thought makes him desperate and he nips at Shiro’s lip, pushing the kiss deeper. His body is a big, solid weight underneath Keith, but his mouth is soft. He can feel Shiro’s tears against his cheeks and he’s not sure if he should keep going, but then Shiro moans and spreads his legs to accommodate Keith’s hips. There’s a heat in his belly and he’s exhausted, just wants to do this one thing, just to let Shiro know he’s not going anywhere.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but Keith usually lets Shiro take the lead. Right now, though, he needs to tell him that he can take care of them sometimes, that Shiro doesn’t have to carry all this weight alone. That he can let Keith lead him, too, that he can let go for a little while. That Keith can keep them safe. He can’t find the words to say it, so he moves down, rucking Shiro’s shirt up to leave soft kisses as he goes. He still can’t believe he’s allowed.

When he gets to Shiro’s waistband, he stops to look up. Shiro is looking down at him, that stupid fond look that Keith has seen so many times before. Seeing it in this context makes Keith feel warm and sentimental and unbelievably turned on.

“Is this okay?” Keith asks. He hopes Shiro understands what he’s trying to say with this, that he hears what Keith is telling him.

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes, “Wanna feel close to you.”

The earnestness makes Keith blush and he hides his face where Shiro’s thigh meets his hip. He hooks a thumb in the elastic and pulls down, takes in Shiro’s sigh as he bobs free. He licks a broad swipe on his way up to kiss Shiro again, finishes taking off his shirt as he goes. He rocks back to shuck his own clothes and eagerly falls back between Shiro’s legs. He turns Shiro’s head to kiss behind his ear. There’s still a little wetness there, but Shiro’s not crying anymore.

“I’m right here,” Keith whispers, “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He drinks in Shiro’s sharp inhale, revels in the tight grip on his ass that urges him forward. He kisses across his face back to his lips and moves back down to take him in his mouth. He takes him as deep as he can and pulls up to flatten his tongue on the underside. He keeps one hand at the base, touching where he can’t reach, and the other at his balls, rubbing gently underneath. Above him, Shiro moans his name and cards a hand through his hair. It settles at the crown of his head, encouraging Keith, never pushing.

When there’s spit dripping down his chin and his jaw aches, he pulls away. Briefly, he sits back on his knees and lazily touches Shiro’s leg, his cock, grazes his perineum. He knows there's lube somewhere in his bag by by the bed and as he leans toward it, Shiro reaches for him, strokes him slowly while he rummages.

“You’re making it really hard to concentrate,” Keith laughs, breathless. Shiro smiles and sighs and Keith thinks Shiro understands what he’s been trying to do. Shiro’s touch makes him gasp as he finds the bottle and comes back to kneel between Shiro’s legs. He spreads a little wider to accommodate him, and Keith sets the bottle down.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks for the second time that night. Shiro looks like he may start crying again, just a little, and Keith hesitates. But then Shiro smiles and says, “I’m so happy to be here with you,” and Keith feels himself well up and smile like he’s 16, flirting with a boy for the first time. He hides his face again, this time in Shiro's neck. The smell of him here, the hints of shampoo and sweat are more intimate than almost anything else. It kicks up his urgency and he doesn't hesitate to tell Shiro he loves him, to tell him all the things he'll do and that he wants Shiro to do to him as he ruts against him, moving slowly and with intent. He lets himself revel in the way they slide against one another, slick from Keith’s mouth, indulges in the hitches of Shiro's breath and the feeling of his thigh around Keith's waist, the thick cords of muscle moving against him.

When Shiro is moaning into every kiss, barely getting the vowels of his name out, Keith knows he understands.

Keith pulls away to reach for the lube and watches Shiro's face as one leg flexes around him encouragingly. He drops to one arm, the other between Shiro’s legs. He kisses Shiro as he pushes one finger in tentatively. Shiro inhales, adjusting, and Keith kisses his brow and his eyelids and his cheekbones as he starts to push, adds another. He kisses his lips, deepens it as he moves, gets one arm behind a leg to open Shiro up even more. Shiro makes small noises as he works, runs a hand along Kieth’s forearm. After a moment, Keith sits back and watches his fingers move inside of Shiro, and takes a second to marvel at the flush on Shiro’s chest, the way he leaks onto his belly, at how eagerly he opens up for Keith.

“Baby,” Shiro says and smiles, bucks against Keith's hand. “Baby, please.” Keith laughs to himself, shakes his head, blushes. Even like this, Shiro knows how to get to him. He crooks his fingers as he slides up to Shiro's side. He pushes deeper, reaches until Shiro gasps and bucks up again. “Baby, _please_.” 

Keith nudges against Shiro's throat, kisses a wet path to his ear and whispers, “What do you want, Takashi?”

Shiro moans, desperate. “Please make me come, please, please I can’t-”

There’s an old urge to be bratty, to keep teasing him, but Keith is struck by how easily he’s come apart in his hands. It’s a strange sense of pride, to be able to do this to Shiro, who’s so strong and kind and _good_. So he indulges in whatever this is, this love or affection or bond - whatever it is that makes him feel like Shiro is a gift and there’s nobody else he can imagine himself with, not in this or any universe - and shifts back down to take him in his mouth. He moans at how hard he is, the solid weight in his mouth like the solid weight of Shiro’s whole body, and when he bends his fingers and presses hard Shiro fists a hand in his hair and yells as he comes. It’s wordless and slowly fades into Keith’s name as he comes down.

Keith rests his head on Shiro’s hip and waits.

“Come here,” finally comes a minute later, and as much as Keith had wanted to take the lead, Shiro’s insistence does what it's always done to him, makes him feel needy and eager to please. He obeys and lets Shiro pull him up to straddle his chest, guide Keith into his mouth.

There is absolutely no way Keith is going to last more than two minutes after everything, not when Shiro’s got a hand on his ass, encouraging him to move. So he gives in, holds Shiro’s head with one hand and the built-ins behind the bed with the other, and fucks into his mouth.

He comes almost silently. The world comes back to him in slow blinks and only when he’s too sensitive to stay put does he realize he’s embarrassed that he’s sitting on Shiro. When he looks down, well. There it is again, that stupid soft look that he always gives him, whether Keith’s angry and ranting or withdrawn and determined and even when he’s just come in Shiro’s mouth. 

The covers rustle as he lies down beside him. Keith knows they should clean up but he can’t bring himself to stand. He curls up against Shiro and idly strokes his stomach, his soft dick, the down on his thighs. 

“It’s okay if you miss him, you know,” Keith doesn’t know why he says it. He feels Shiro’s shoulder tense, then relax. He can’t look at him, ashamed of himself for some reason he can’t pinpoint.

“I do, sometimes,” Shiro admits, “but it’s not like that. Even if we’d come back and he told me he’d made a mistake, it wouldn’t matter.” His chest expands as he inhales. “I miss who I was before. But it feels like a different person, another life? God,” he says, laughing at himself, like he’s not talking about something that scares Keith to his core. And maybe that’s okay, Keith thinks, maybe it’s okay if Shiro carries a little piece of the boy he loved before the war with him. Maybe it’s okay to keep moving forward. 

“I’m not making any sense, I’m sorry. It’s just. This is my life now.” He hooks a finger under Keith’s chin and tilts his face up, leaning down to look at him. “Thank you, though. Thank you for understanding that it’s hard,” he says and kisses him softly. Keith pulls away just enough to touch his nose to Shiro’s, to see the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes again.

“Any time.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> keith’s growth this season fucked me up!!!


End file.
